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Songs and Other Verse

THE WORKS OF EUGENE FIELD

Vol. IX

THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD

SONGS AND OTHER VERSE

INTRODUCTION

“It is about impossible for a man to get rid of his Puritan grandfathers,
and nobody who has ever had one has ever escaped his Puritan grandmother;”so said Eugene Field to me one sweet April day, when we talked together ofthe things of the spirit. It is one of his own confessions that he wasfond of clergymen. Most preachers are supposed to be helplessly tied upwith such a set of limitations that there are but a few jokes which theymay tolerate, and a small number of delights into which they may enter.Doubtless many a cheerful soul likes to meet such of the clergy, in orderthat the worldling may feel the contrast of liberty with bondage, anddemonstrate by bombardment of wit and humor, how intellectually thin arethe walls against which certain forms of skepticism and fun offend. EugeneField did not belong to these. He called them “a tribe which do unseemlybeset the saints.” Nobody has ever had a more numerous or loving clientageof friendship among the ministers of this city than the author of “TheHoly Cross” and “The Little Yaller Baby.” Those of this number who wereclosest to the full-hearted singer know that beneath and within all hisexquisite wit and ludicrous raillery—so often directed against theshallow formalist, or the unctuous hypocrite—there were an aspirationtoward the divine, and a desire for what is often slightingly called“religious conversation,” as sincere as it was resistless within him. Myown first remembrance of him brings back a conversation which ended in aprayer, and the last sight I had of him was when he said, only four daysbefore his death, “Well, then, we will set the day soon and you will comeout and baptize the children.”

Some of the most humorous of his letters which have come under the
observation of his clerical friends, were addressed to the secretary ofone of them. Some little business matters with regard to his readings andthe like had acquainted him with a better kind of handwriting than he hadbeen accustomed to receive from his pastor, and, noting the finelyappended signature, “per —— ——,” Field wrote a most effusivelycomplimentary letter to his ministerial friend, congratulating him uponthe fact that emanations from his office, or parochial study, were “nowreadable as far West as Buena Park.” At length, nothing having appeared inwriting by which he might discover that —— —— was a lady of his ownacquaintance, she whose valuable services he desired to recognize was madethe recipient of a series of beautifully illuminated and daintily writtenletters, all of them quaintly begun, continued, and ended inecclesiastical terminology, most of them having to do with affairs inwhich the two gentlemen only were primarily interested, the larger numberof them addressed in English to “Brother ——,” in care of the minister,and yet others directed in Latin:

Ad Fratrem —— ——

In curam, Sanctissimi patris ——, doctoris divinitatis,

Apud Institutionem Armouriensem,

CHICAGO,

ILLINOIS.

{Ab Eugenic Agro, peccatore misere}

Even the mail-carrier appeared to know what fragrant humor escaped from
the envelope.

Here is a specimen inclosure:

BROTHER ——: I am to read some of my things before the senior class of
the Chicago University next Monday evening. As there is undoubtedly moreor less jealousy between the presidents of the two south side institutionsof learning, I take it upon myself to invite the lord bishop ofArmourville, our holy père, to be present on that occasion in hispontifical robes and followed by all the dignitaries of his see, includingyourself. The processional will occur at 8 o’clock sharp, and therecessional circa 9:30. Pax vobiscum. Salute the holy Father with a kiss,and believe me, dear brother,

Your fellow lamb in the old Adam,

EUGENIO AGRO.

(A. Lamb) SEAL.

The First Wednesday after Pay day,

September 11, 1895.

On an occasion of this lady’s visit to the South-west, where Field’s
fancied association of cowboys and miners was formed, she was fortunateenough to obtain for the decoration of his library the ratherextraordinary Indian blanket which often appears in the sketches of hisloved workshop, and for the decoration of himself a very fine necktie madeof the skin of a diamond-back rattlesnake. Some other friend had given hisboys a “vociferant burro.” After the presentation was made, though for twoyears he had met her socially and at the pastor’s office, he wrote to thesecretary, in acknowledgment, as follows:

DEAR BROTHER ——: I thank you most heartily for the handsome specimens of
heathen manufacture which you brought with you for me out of the land ofNod. Mrs. Field is quite charmed—with the blanket, but I think I preferthe necktie; the Old Adam predominates in me, and this pelt of the serpentappeals with peculiar force to my appreciation of the vicious and thesinful. Nearly every morning I don that necktie and go out and twist thesupersensitive tail of our intelligent imported burro until the profanebeast burthens the air with his ribald protests. I shall ask the holyfather—Pere —— to bring you with him when he comes again to pay aparochial visit to my house. I have a fair and gracious daughter intowhose companionship I would fain bring so circumspect and diligent a youngman as the holy father represents you to be. Therefore, without fear ortrembling accompany that saintly man whensoever he says the word. Therebyyou shall further make me your debtor. I send you every assurance ofcordial regard, and I beg you to salute the holy father for me with akiss, and may peace be unto his house and unto all that dwell therein.

Always faithfully yours,

EUGENE FIELD.

CHICAGO, MAY 26, 1892.

He became acquainted with the leading ladies of the Aid Society of the
Plymouth Church, and was thoroughly interested in their work. Partly inorder to say “Goodbye” before his leaving for California in 1893, andpartly, no doubt, that he might continue this humorous correspondence, ashe did, he hunted up an old number of Peterson’s Magazine, containing avery highly colored and elaborate pattern for knit slippers, such asclergymen received at Christmas thirty years ago, and, inclosing it withutmost care, he forwarded it to the aforesaid “Brother ——” with thisnote:

DEAR BROTHER ——: It has occurred to me that maybe the sisters of our
congregation will want to make our dear pastor a handsome present thisChristmas; so I inclose a lovely pattern for slippers, and I shall be gladto ante up my share of the expense, if the sisters decide to give our dearpastor this beautiful gift. I should like the pattern better if it hadmore red in it, but it will do very nicely. As I intend to go toCalifornia very soon, you’ll have to let me know at once what theassessment per cap. is, or the rest of the sisters will be compelled tobear the full burthen of the expense. Brother, I salute you with an holykiss, and I rejoice with you, humbly and meekly and without insolentvaunting, that some of us are not as other men are.

Your fellow-lamb,

EUGENE FIELD,

BUENA PARK, ILL., DECEMBER 4, 1893.

This was only one phase of the life of this great-hearted man, as it came
close to his friends in the ministry. Other clergymen who knew him wellwill not forget his overflowing kindness in times of sickness andweariness. At least one will not forget the last day of their meeting andthe ardor of the poet’s prayer. Religion, as the Christian life, was notless sacred to him because he knew how poorly men achieve the task ofliving always at the best level, nor did the reality of the soul’sapproach to God grow less noble or commanding to him because he knew thattoo seldom do we lift our voices heavenward. I am permitted to copy thisone letter addressed to a clerical friend, at a time when Eugene Fieldresponded to the call of that undying puritanism in his blood:

DEAR, DEAR FRIEND: I was greatly shocked to read in the Post last night of
your dangerous illness. It is so seldom that I pray that when I do Godknows I am in earnest. I do not pester Him with small matters. It is onlywhen I am in real want that I get down on my wicked knees and pray. AndI prayed for you last night, dear friend, for your friendship—the helpthat it is to me—is what I need, and I cannot be bereft of it. God hasalways been good to me, and He has said yes to my prayer, I am sure.Others, too—thousands of them—are praying for you, and for yourrestoration to health; none other has had in it more love and loyalty thanmy prayer had, and none other, dear friend, among the thousands whom youhave blessed with your sweet friendship, loves you better than I do.

EUGENE FIELD.BUENA PARK, NOVEMBER 15, 1893.

I am still sick abed and I find it hard to think out and write a letter.
Read between the lines and the love there will comfort you more than myfaulty words can.

I have often thought, as I saw him through his later years espousing the
noblest causes with true-hearted zeal, of what he once said in the old“Saints’ and Sinners’ Corner” when a conversation sprang up on the deathof Professor David Swing. His words go far to explain to me that somewhatreckless humor which oftentimes made it seem that he loved to imitate andhold in the pillory of his own inimitable powers of mimicry some of theleast attractive forms of the genus parson he had seen and known. Hesaid: “A good many things I do and say are things I have to employ to keepdown the intention of those who wanted me to be a parson. I guess theirdesire got into my blood, too, for I have always to preach some littleverses or I cannot get through Christmastide.”

He had to get on with blood which was exquisitely harmonious with the
heart of the Christ. He was not only a born member of the Society for thePrevention of Sorrow to Mankind, but he was by nature a champion of aworking Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. This society wascomposed of himself. He wished to enlarge the membership of this latterassociation, but nobody was as orthodox in the faith as to the nobility ofa balky horse, and he found none as intolerant of ill-treatment toward anyand every brute, as was he. Professor Swing had written and read at theParliament of Religions an essay on the Humane Treatment of the Brutes,which became a classic before the ink was dry, and one day Field proposedto him and another clergyman that they begin a practical crusade. On thosecold days, drivers were demanding impossible things of smooth-shod horseson icy streets, and he saw many a noble beast on his knees, “begging me,”as he said, “to get him a priest.” Field’s scheme was that the delicateand intelligent seer, David Swing, and his less refined and less gentlecontemporary should go with him to the City Hall and be sworn in asspecial policemen and “do up these fellows.” His clear blue eye was like apalpitating morning sky, and his whole thin and tall frame shook withpassionate missionary zeal. “Ah,” said he, as the beloved knight of theunorthodox explained that if he undertook the proposed task he wouldsurely have to abandon all other work, “I never was satisfied that youwere orthodox.” His other friend had already fallen in his estimate as tofitness for such work. For, had not Eugene Field once started out to pay abill of fifteen dollars, and had he not met a semblance of a man on thestreet who was beating a lengthily under-jawed and bad-eyed bull-dog ofhis own, for some misdemeanor? “Yea, verily,” confessed the poet-humorist,who was then a reformer. “Why didn’t you have him arrested, Eugene?” “Why,well, I was going jingling along with some new verses in my heart, and Iknew I’d lose the tempo if I became militant. I said, ‘What’ll you takefor him?’ The pup was so homely that his face ached, but, as I was in ahurry to get to work, I gave him the fifteen dollars, and took the beastto the office.” For a solitary remark uttered at the conclusion of thisrelation and fully confirmed as to its justness by an observation of thedog, his only other human prop for this enterprise was discarded. “Oh, youwon’t do,” he said.

Christianity was increasingly dear to him as the discovery of childhood